


Foxtrot

by prosecutorpumpkin



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Awkward Dancing, M/M, Non-Despair AU, Older And Wiser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4020883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosecutorpumpkin/pseuds/prosecutorpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Ishimaru becomes the Prime Minister and Mondo successfully becomes a carpenter, a little reunion is arranged in the most frustrating way possible: ballroom dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxtrot

Usually, a dance studio was the absolute last place Kiyotaka would want to set foot.

He had no rhythm, period. It had been that way since he could put one foot in front of the other, and it hadn’t shifted at all during his lifetime. Now, at the age of 32, it was time for him to take the first steps towards progress in his dancing skills...preferably without those first steps leading to him tripping over himself.

Everything else in his life had progressed smoothly. Graduating Hope’s Peak, attending university, and working his way through the political field at a pace that solidified his status as a prodigy (though he steadfastly denied the term). Here he was now, Prime Minister, at the very peak of his prime, staring at his reflection in one of the dance studio’s mirrors, adjusting the deep red tie laying flat against his chest, keeping his face stony, though his wide red eyes, ever youthful, betrayed his nervousness. To be invited to a meeting and dance by the Austrian delegation...a waltz, it was…

He swallowed stubbornly. How ridiculous to be so concerned over a dance! He had made it this far...Kiyotaka Ishimaru had overcome the stigma set by his grandfather and rose to his goal...so dancing had to be relatively simple, right? It was just a matter of effort. Kiyotaka posed himself, holding his imaginary partner, keeping his back straight and toes pointed. His reflection mimicked him, staring back severely, black hair a stark contrast to the the snowy white of his suit--though the single, equally white forelock stood out markedly against his forehead. The picture of dignity.

Then, he moved.

Immediately, the illusion of grandiosity vanished. His steps were awkward, clumsy--certainly not the same military precision he applied to the majority of his movements. He spun around like a child on a playground, uncoordinated with the soft ballad playing gently through the speakers. Even though it was just him--he had requested that the studio only have the bare minimum of security so he could practice as solitarily as he could--he felt as though the entire world was judging him.

“Don’t give up! You can do this, Kiyotaka...you can do this…”

He muttered to himself words of encouragement, trying again to coordinate himself. That attempt, however, was interrupted by the sharp sound of an opening door. Kiyotaka immediately dropped his hands to his sides, spinning sharply on his heel before sliding into a deep bow at the visitor, instinctively knowing who it was. Quietly, a closed smile widened his lips without even looking up as a familiar voice drifted to his ears.

“So this is how yer gonna greet me again? In a goddamn dance studio? Man...it’s been a while.”

The prime minister rose and his eyes met those of his long-time boyfriend--one who he had only minimal contact with during his rise to the top. Mondo Oowada stared back, a cocky grin on his face, bleached hair cut so that it hung at the eartips, natural brown hair taking over and stopping right above his shoulder; a look far less subversive than the pompadour he had worn in high school. He scratched the hair on his chin, another marker of growth, as he glanced around suspiciously at the guards, the flash of a tattoo peeking out slightly from under his leather motorcycle jacket’s sleeve, before his eyes settled once again on Kiyotaka and he made his way forward.

No words were spoken, but a hearty laugh burst from Kiyotaka’s lips--as did budding tears from his eyes--as they embraced, Mondo lifting the other up briefly, chuckling along with him, ending with a brief but passionate kiss between the two. For a moment, they stayed wrapped around each other, laughing purely, sharing glances and shy smiles, unable to get a word in between the sudden explosion of joy. Finally, the happy vibrations turned into words, Kiyotaka stepping back to allow some space between them, but holding onto the other’s hands, grabbing them as if Mondo would suddenly disappear without notice.

“Kyoudai...no. Mondo.” The other’s given name slipped past Kiyotaka’s lips with dedication, wrapped in warmth. “I’ve been waiting for this day for so long…! I know we haven’t always been able to speak regularly, what with what has happened since school…”

“Hey,” the former bosozoku interrupted, tossing his chin to the side. “It’s alright. You ain’t gotta apologize. You’re the prime minister; that shit takes focus, right? Heh, you sure did accomplish that dream, didn’t you!”

“And you, yours! I heard you had some difficulties, but--”

“It ain’t easy quittin’ gang life, y’know!”

“I didn’t say it was, but--”

“--But now I’m a carpenter, yeah, just like I said I’d be.”

“And just like I said you would be.”

The breathless, loud exchange came to a halt as they stared into each other’s eyes once more, looks of pure happiness on both of their faces. To achieve both of their dreams, to meet again--this was perfection. Mondo gently rapped the politician on the shoulder with his knuckles, throwing a glance at the speakers.

“So, you asked me here to dance? You know I don’t know how to do this fancy dancin’ thing.”

“And neither do I! So, I felt that we could both learn. Together.”  
Mondo looked as if he had suddenly gotten a bone stuck in his throat, a sputtering noise issuing from his mouth in disbelief.

“Yer fuckin’ nuts.”

“Mondo! Anything is possible with enough effort!”

“Yeah? Then why haven’t you learned how to dance yet?”

“I am in the process! Now come on, get into position...ah, wait, let me show you what position I mean.”

With a firm touch (and a slight tremble in his hand), Kiyotaka assumed the lead, closed position intrinsic to waltz, leading the other’s larger, rough-worn hands and arms to where they should be in turn. Mondo simply cocked an eyebrow, eyes shifting to the side as he muttered something that Kiyotaka strained to hear. Something about it being embarrassing. Clearing his throat loudly, Kiyotaka managed to get the carpenter’s gaze to snap back to the politician’s; both of their expressions softened slightly as they instinctively pressed their foreheads against each other reassuringly.

“So, get to it,” Mondo said, voice low, but jovial. Kiyotaka happily acquiesced. 

“Right then! Please just follow my lead. Do not be afraid to ask questions--that’s the best way to learn, after all.”

“You never change.”

Almost immediately, they both tripped; Mondo accidentally drove his heel awkwardly into the politician’s foot, and Kiyotaka fell forward in turn, the foot that wasn’t pinned catching on the carpenter’s other foot. Fortunately, he fell only onto the other’s chest, where he looked up from, eyebrows scrunched together as his teeth gnawed at his lower lip. This would not do. This would not do at all.

“Let’s try that again!”

“You sure you know what yer doin’? You wanna get an actual teacher or--?”

“Mondo I am perfectly capable of learning this on my own.”

“Look man, ain’t no shame--”

“--Again!”

This time, they bothered to look down and attempt to coordinate their steps. It went a little more smoothly this time, both of their legs shaky and unsure, but their hands guiding, comforting each other with minute rubs on their backs, a gentle peck on the cheek, a testy, but humorous sigh escaping every now and again. In a world where both of them rushed daily, living fast and without stop, the idea of taking the time to slow dance was absurd. And yet they relished the absurdity of the situation, of the carpenter and the politician, of boyhood friends-turned-boyfriends reuniting on the dancefloor.

They exchanged furtive kisses when they finally gained the confidence to look up from their feet; Kiyotaka with inborn confidence, Mondo with nervous passion. Even a process as taxing for the both of them as learning to dance became enjoyable in each other’s company. Slowly, the stresses and baggage they had brought to the studio began to melt away with each turn, each step loosening the politician’s stiff muscles, every sway making the carpenter’s breathing steady.

In each other’s company, they saw potential, and that potential was unlimited.

By the end, they were by no means experts--but the long, slow orchestral tracks had finally reached their end, and in their place started a bright, fast-paced big band tape. The two snapped out of their trances, staring at each other as if they had been awoken from an extremely pleasant dream. Clearly, their slow steps weren’t going to cut it for this kind of music.

“So...what do we do now? You wanna start the tape over or--?”

Kiyotaka took a moment to think, face stern, before a smile returned--wide, bright, and completely sure.

“No. This will do perfectly. There is another dance related to the waltz that we might learn together. It is called a foxtrot.”


End file.
